


SVS-19: Become The Moon

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, Series: The Sentinel Slash Virtual Season, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair track a ritual murderer through a path marked by jealousy and desire.<br/>This story is a sequel to SVS-18: Return To Clayton Falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SVS-19: Become The Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Episodes of SVS may contain depictions of consensual m/m sex. These depictions may or may not be accompanied by specific mention of items necessary for safe and healthy intercourse. It is the intention of FiveSenses, Inc. and all SVS authors that, even when such items are not explicitly mentioned, their use is to be assumed as a matter of course. All of us at FiveSenses, Inc. are aware of the risks of unprotected sex in today's world and strongly advocate the practice of safe sex, including the use of condoms and other protective devices.

## SVS-19: Become The Moon

by Maggie B

Author's webpage: <http://www.squidge.org/5Senses/>

Author's disclaimer: This story is an episode of The Sentinel Slash Virtual Season (SVS), produced by FiveSenses, Inc. SVS is based on characters and concepts developed by, and belonging to, Pet Fly Productions. This story is intended for private, personal enjoyment only. No money is being made, or will be allowed to be made, by the author of this story or by FiveSenses, Inc. from the writing and distribution of this story. Any original characters introduced in an SVS episode belongs to the episode author and to FiveSenses, Inc. and should not be used without their permission.

* * *

Warmest thanks from FiveSenses, Inc. to Kimberly Workman for her much appreciated contribution in beta reading this story. 

Author's e-mail address: MaggieBcc@aol.com 

Story Notes: Thanks to WoD for her patience, and for helping me tie up the loose ends. <g> And, thanks to Rike for bringing the story to life--you're amazing! 

* * *

Become the Moon  
by Maggie 

* * *

The nightmare began. No reference existed for the moment before this one, no memory of walking downstairs or coming to stand in the middle of the loft. Jim felt planted, stranded in a body that would not move. Warmth spread across his back, and he knew if he could turn he would see sunlight streaming in from the balcony. His feet were numb, and with effort he looked down. In an instant, his unease became terror as he realized his feet were gone, replaced by roots, tunneling into the floor, binding him to the spot. 

His heart raced. Keys rattled in the door and he shot his gaze up to find Blair entering the loft. Jim tried to speak but his lips were frozen. Blair walked into the kitchen, poured a glass of water, then moved to the couch, passing by Jim as if he weren't there. He dropped onto the cushions and began reading the mail, thumbing through it slowly, going about a normal moment in a day where the furnace blew warm air and the refrigerator hummed. 

Jim latched onto reason. If this were real, Blair would see him. He took a breath and it whistled in his chest like wind through a hollow core. //Not real, not real.// He stared at Blair, focused on the beauty of his lover, the glimmer of sunlight in those curls. Blair sighed and rested his head back against the cushions of the couch. He closed his eyes and Jim watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, almost losing himself in the rhythm. 

Until he heard it. 

Upstairs. A sound he could not place. It reminded him of buried things stirring beneath the earth, creatures tunneling, bones shifting. And the air in the loft grew cold until his breath became mist. Then it was there, at the top of the stairs. A shadow, a black and shifting shape that molded itself into the form of a man with dark and wrinkled skin. 

It moved. 

It moved toward Blair and Jim tried to shout. 

//Move your ass, Chief. Run, goddammit!// 

Then the shape was on top of Blair, pinning him to the cushions and Blair was... laughing. 

"Miss me?" Blair smiled at the creature and Jim felt a wave of jealousy. 

"Come here." It spoke and the voice rattled in its throat like gravel down a hill. 

Blair lay stretched on the couch as it spread itself on top of him. A wave of nausea rolled over Jim as he watched the entity touch Blair, slide a gnarled hand along his cheek then under his shirt, pushing it up to reveal the flat stomach. A tongue flicked out to taste and Blair moaned. Laughter echoed around Jim as it pulled Blair's jeans off, tugged him forward, lifted his legs onto its shoulders. 

"Mine," it said before lurching forward to swallow Blair's cock. 

"Oh God!" Blair panted and thrashed beneath the creature. 

Sweat trickled down Jim's face as he strained and pushed against bonds he could not see. Blair gripped the cushions beneath him and shouted as he came. Rage burned through Jim, threatening to consume him as the creature swallowed and moaned, gripping Blair's hips, digging its fingers into the soft skin, leaving marks. Jim watched Blair shudder and settle like he always did after sex, sighing as his eyelids drooped then closed and he smiled that soft smile, the one meant for Jim. 

Nothing would move and the numbness climbed higher, past his feet to his legs then onward until his whole body grew brittle and heavy. Jim felt the last of his flesh turn to wood as his gaze froze on the creature. It lifted itself and looked at Jim with skin no longer shriveled, but new. And, the face was familiar, the face was Jim's, the expression was victory and Jim would have screamed if he could. 

* * *

Jim woke with a gasp. He sat up in bed, rigid and aware of the empty space beside him. He pulled his breath under control and listened until he found Blair downstairs. He stood and jerked on sweats, cursing the fumble of his hands as they shook. He leaned on the railing and looked down. Blair sat on the couch, legs curled beneath him, newspaper scattered across the cushions. 

"What are you doing?" Jim asked and he heard the accusation in his tone, the hint of anger. 

Blair peered up at him over wire-frames and quirked one eyebrow. 

"Reading the paper. It's Sunday. You know, day of big sports section, lots of funnies? Don't worry, I folded the sports back just like I found them." Mischief filled the blue gaze. "It's safe now. You can touch them." 

"Smart-ass." A wave of relief hit him as he watched Blair sip coffee from his Sunday mug and lean back against the couch with that look in his eyes, the patiently indulgent one that said alright, get your ass down here and tell me what's up. 

Jim took the stairs like a runner, then slowed his pace a bit on his walk to the couch. He towered over Blair for a moment, hands on hips, glowering as best he could at his lover's smug expression before taking the cup, setting it on the coffee table, and pulling Blair up into a bear hug. 

"Oof." Blair squeezed him back and laughed. "Okay, I give. You can have the funnies too." 

"Who needs them with you around?" Jim nuzzled his way past tangled curls to the curve of Blair's neck. 

Blair began a smart comeback that trailed into "oh" as Jim nibbled his way to a warm, flushed earlobe. Jim sucked the lobe in, twirled his tongue around it then moved back toward that sweet spot on Blair's neck. 

"When are you going to get it right, Chief?" he murmured against the soft skin. "They're called 'comics,' not 'funnies.'" 

Blair hummed his dissent and reached down to cup Jim's ass. He leaned back as far as the hug would allow and stared at Jim with a warm glance. 

"Good morning," he said. 

Jim smiled and dipped his fingers into thick curls. "Good morning." He rubbed his thumbs across Blair's whiskers. "Been up long?" 

"Nah. Did I wake you? I was trying to be quiet. You need to catch up on your sleep. Rafe owes you one for taking the stake-out with Henri last night." Blair regarded him with serious eyes. "You look tired." 

"I'm fine." 

Jim stalled further comment with a kiss. It began tender as lips brushed together then apart. Blair tasted like coffee and burnt toast, wheat and apple butter. Jim pushed his tongue into heat and chased that other flavor, the one he could never quite name. Blair moaned and Jim tugged him closer, suddenly possessive as a piece of the dream flashed to mind. He pulled back and tilted Blair's head then dove in again, pushing their mouths wide and ruling the pace. 

The kiss ended with a gasp and he grinned at Blair's glazed expression and the determined focus on Jim's mouth. 

"How about we both go back to bed, Chief?" 

Jim took the "mm" as a yes, grabbed the sports page then tugged Blair upstairs with sleep being the last thing on his mind. 

They made love and time passed. It felt good not to track it; to let the shifting patterns of sunlight in the room, and a growl from his stomach, tell him noon must be close. Blair had been the one to fall asleep after coming twice. The first time, he proclaimed Jim the master of all things oral. The last, he shouted something biblical as Jim came inside him. Then he wound down, resting back against Jim's chest, murmuring "stay" when he began to pull free, melting any resolve Jim might have had to leave their bed. He was still half-hard inside Blair, arm curled around his shoulders, face tucked into the curve of his neck where he felt most vulnerable and smelled of musk. And as warm breath streamed across his arm, Jim fought the urge to thrust, to begin a rhythm that would change the moment. But soon he had to move and he thrust slowly, groaning at the tight heat. Blair's breath hitched and he came awake in stages, voice thick as he moaned Jim's name and fumbled for his cock. Jim pushed the hands away and thrust deeper, harder, reveling in the sounds Blair made and the pliant feel of his body. His cock began to fill in Jim's hand and Jim worked him gently until thought faded into motion and need and Jim drove them both over the edge again. 

"Man, I love Sundays." Blair sounded breathless and he moaned softly as Jim pulled free. "Sunday is the best of all days." 

"I thought Saturday was the best day." Jim tugged Blair onto his back and traced a finger across his lower lip. 

"That was yesterday, man. Three orgasms ago." Blair's eyebrows climbed. "Three in one morning, Jim. I think that's a record." 

"Let's call Ripley's." Jim struggled to keep the self-satisfied look from his eyes as he leaned down for a kiss. "Damn, you taste good this morning." 

Blair's stomach chose that moment to growl. 

"How romantic," Jim said. 

"I worked up an appetite." Blair grinned at him. 

"Yeah, well, now you can go work us up some lunch. It's your turn." Jim kissed him again then rolled away, adjusted his pillow and snared the sports page from the bedside table. 

Blair stretched with a satisfied grunt but made no move to get up. Jim opened to the second page and started an article about the NBA draft. He made it to paragraph two before Blair's musings began. 

"So, I guess you might have been all revved up this morning because you missed having me around last night." 

"Uh huh." Jim reread the last sentence, something about the Jags' chances for the number two pick. 

"Or you could be feeling guilty about something and figured that fucking me senseless was a good way to make it up to me." 

Jim dropped the corner of the paper and glared at the man happily sprawled next to him. 

"Or not." Blair shrugged and rolled onto his side. He propped his head on his hand and regarded Jim with an expectant look. 

"What? I need a reason to want to have sex with you?" 

"No." Blair smiled and ran a warm palm down Jim's chest. "I just thought that maybe something was up with you is all." 

Jim returned his gaze to the newspaper and considered how to answer that. It was now, with the light of day hitting it, a stupid dream. He had turned into a tree, for God's sake, in his own living room. He fully intended to tell Blair about the dream, but he wanted to wait until after breakfast so it wouldn't seem like the sex had anything to do with Jim needing to prove something. After all, the sex had been great. He didn't need to be admitting that some gnarled up figment of his imagination made him jealous. Who knew what Blair Sandburg would make of that? Jim nearly shuddered at the possibilities. 

Blair stuck his finger in Jim's belly button and tugged. He grinned as Jim's cock twitched. 

"Tell me," he drawled, "or I'll make you go for four." 

Jim tossed the paper aside and pounced. He sprawled across Blair, pulled his wrists above his head and pinned them down. Blair yelped in surprise and laughed. 

"Whoa, just kidding, man." 

"You don't think I could do it?" Jim tried for humor but the tone veered off into defensive. 

Shit. 

Blair immediately lost his smile. His brows knit together and he began babbling apologies and assurances until Jim kissed him just to shut him up. He kissed him long and hard, kneed his way between Blair's thighs and rolled his hips forward for good measure. He pulled back from the kiss and Blair blinked owlishly up at him. 

"Jim, I love you. You're the King, the Man, the charge for my battery-- but I've got to tell you, if you want to make me hard again, you're gonna have to rent a balloon pump." 

Jim snorted and dropped his face onto Blair's shoulder. Blair chuckled and pulled his wrists free. He smoothed warm palms up and down Jim's sides until Jim lifted his face and grinned down at him. 

"You're a piece of work, Sandburg." 

Blair shrugged cheerfully. Jim shook his head and rolled off. He turned his face and stared across the distance of one pillow into the smiling eyes of his lover. 

"I dreamt you were making out with some shriveled up freak while I turned into a tree." 

Blair stared at him blankly for a full five seconds before responding. 

"Shriveled up as in old or as in been in the water too long?" 

He looked serious, but Jim narrowed his eyes. "What?" 

Blair grinned and moved over to straddle Jim's waist. He looked down at Jim and raised one eyebrow. 

"Start from the beginning," he said. 

It took a long time to tell what with Blair in inquisitor mode. Plus, there were the occasional facts about trees he felt compelled to share: religious symbolism, cultural significance, and, of course, the aphrodisiac effect of some types of bark. But, eventually, the dream was spilled and Jim peered over the side of the bed to retrieve the sports page. 

Blair sat cross-legged beside him on the bed now. "It could mean a lot of things. Like, for instance, it could be a warning about your diet. I've been telling you, man; cut out the greasy, fried foods. That stuff will suck the life right out of you." 

He illustrated the point with sucking noises and strange contortions of his hands. 

"Having fun, Chief?" Jim flipped to the last page of the sports. "How about we focus on your dreams for awhile. I could probably explain the men in white uniforms, chasing you around with a net." 

"Good one." Blair grinned. "Actually, I do have a recurring dream. It involves this panther who shows up to give me a tongue bath." 

Jim tossed a sideways glare at him, which lost all impact due to the twitch at the corners of his mouth. He finally gave in to a begrudging smirk. 

"A tongue bath, huh?" He looked at Blair. "You like that dream?" 

"Oh yeah," Blair said. 

* * *

Monday's bullpen resembled a ghost town. Around-the-clock surveillance of Kennet's warehouses near the wharf had Major Crime spread thin and short on good humor. But Kennet's days as crime lord were hopefully numbered. His latest operation involved the sale of illegal weapons, and it looked to be the one Major Crime had finally caught a break on. Information from a protected witness about plans to sell to the Hawks, one of Cascade's leading gangs, offered enough evidence to put him away. All they needed now was confirmation regarding the next buy. 

Blair hoped it came soon. With Major Crime frayed at the edges, no topic or encounter felt safe. Blair was fed up himself. The final straw came this morning when Joel Taggart had actually grunted and cursed in reply to "Hey Joel, how's it going?" 

With let-it-end-soon running like a mantra through his head, Blair made a coffee run. He carried two cups back from the break room, mindful of the fact he'd overfilled one of them. He nearly made it to Jim's desk without a spill when Simon bellowed. 

"Ellison, Sandburg, my office!" 

"Ow." Coffee dribbled across his fingers and onto the scuffed tile by Jim's feet. 

"Shit, Chief. Be careful. What the hell are you doing?" Jim took the clean cup and left Blair to wrap Kleenex around the other. "Did you burn yourself?" 

"No," Blair groused despite the red blotch forming on his finger. 

Jim raised one eyebrow and regarded him with one of the looks in his vast repertoire, the one that made Blair feel all of twelve. 

"Like *you've* never spilled anything." Blair scrambled to come up with a recent example, couldn't think of one, so quickly changed tactics. "Mr. Perfect, Mr. Detective of the Year, Mr..." 

"Sometime this _year_ , gentlemen." Simon glared at them from his office door. 

"Coming, sir." Jim tugged on Blair's sleeve. "Come on, Mr. Fumbles." 

"Ha ha." Blair fell in step beside him. 

Simon slipped into his coat as they entered his office. 

"We have a double homicide on our hands." Simon searched his pockets and pulled out his car keys. "I'm assigning you." 

"Shit, Simon, why is this falling in Major Crime's lap?" Jim asked. 

"Don't start with me, Jim. I know we have our hands full right now, but this one is ours. The victims are Dan Hampton and Roger Stone. Their bodies were found in the woods beyond the track at Rainier." 

The words landed like a punch. 

"You're kidding!" Blair shook his head and looked at Jim, who seemed equally stunned. 

Dan Hampton was a track star at Rainier, an Olympic hopeful, and Roger Stone was his coach. Blair remembered reading a feature story about him in last Sunday's paper. 

"Do I look like I'm kidding, Sandburg?!" Simon glared at him. 

"No, of course not." Blair winced. "Sorry, sir." 

"Let's move." Simon led them out of his office toward the elevators. 

Press already hung about the campus by the time Jim pulled the truck into a spot near the track. Simon arrived a few seconds later and joined them on the walk toward the crime scene. Blair spotted yellow tape a few yards into the woods. Leaves and twigs snapped beneath his feet as he rushed to keep up with Jim and Simon's longer strides. An officer, who looked to be about Simon's age, met them as they neared the scene. He wore a grim expression, but Blair noticed warmth flash in his eyes as he spotted Simon. 

"Captain." He smiled. 

"How are you doing, Barry?" Simon returned the smile. "Were you the first on the scene?" 

"Yeah." He nodded. "Whoever did this is either a whack-job or someone with an agenda." 

"What makes you say that?" Jim asked. 

Barry glanced at Jim. 

"Sorry, let me introduce you. Barry, this is Detective Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg. Blair's a consultant for the department." Simon tipped his chin toward the officer. "This is Barry North, an officer who should be a detective by now. I would recruit him for Major Crime." 

"Thanks, Simon, but I'm good where I'm at." He smiled then sobered as he glanced at a young officer who stood nearby, looking green around the edges. "Let's start by getting you a look at the crime scene." 

Blair took a breath to prepare, but his stomach still clenched at the site of Dan Hampton's body, hanging by the wrists, bound to a large tree. He heard Jim's soft gasp and followed his glance to the base of the tree where roots twisted and disappeared into the earth and blood stained the ground in two large circles, spreading from where Dan Hampton's feet should have been. 

"Shit," Jim murmured. "Shit." 

For an instant, fear flooded the cool blue of Jim's eyes. Blair gripped his arm and shook gently. 

"Jim." He spoke in a near-whisper, pulling calm from someplace inside himself. "We'll figure this out." 

Blair poured reassurance into his glance. Jim took a breath, nodded then looked away, detaching into a place with thick walls. Blair let him go, feeling the loss as he released Jim's arm, that brief pang he would probably always feel when Jim turned away from him. Then Blair took his own breath and checked his own emotions with a still developing skill. 

Jim moved near the body and looked down. He squatted and Blair joined him to get a closer look at a newly planted tree. It looked to be a palm tree, which had been placed with care into the blood-soaked earth. 

"What do you make of these, Chief?" Jim pointed to a series of marks drawn in the earth with shallow precision. 

"It looks like some kind of old language." Blair took a notebook and pen from his pocket and copied the symbols. 

Jim caught the attention of a forensics tech. 

"Let's bag this tree and check out what's beneath it." 

Blair looked at Jim curiously then felt his stomach flip as he realized what Jim was thinking and knew what they would find. They stepped back to allow the photographer to capture the symbols and the arrangement of the plant to the crime scene. Then the tech removed earth carefully, bagging samples and placing the new tree carefully aside for evidence. A shallow hole remained with Dan Hampton's missing feet resting in the center. Blair nearly gagged as he looked away, glancing at Jim to be sure he had the dials in hand. 

Jim nodded and Blair followed him to a fallen tree where Roger Stone's body sat propped like a spectator. He had been bound and gagged, and the knife protruding from his chest left little doubt as to the cause of death. Blair looked at the face and felt a sudden sweat as the blank eyes of a dead man called to him. Wind rushed through the trees, whispering like voices, and Blair tried to look away but the round gaze lured him forward a step, like the knothole in Mrs. Danbush's tree used to do, the one that stared at him from across backyards. Blair shook himself and backed away from the body, but he couldn't break the stare. It followed him as he moved. 

"Watch where you're going, Sandburg!" 

Blair whirled to face Simon Banks. 

"Sorry," he breathed. 

Simon considered him for a moment and seemed about to say something when Jim's warm palm suddenly closed upon Blair's shoulder and squeezed. Blair edged slightly closer to Jim, seeking a shield from the sensation of eyes boring into him, and told himself to get a damn grip. 

"Your friend's right, Captain," Jim said. "This isn't your garden variety perp we're dealing with here." 

Simon snorted. "You are the man to turn to for understatement, Jim." 

Blair fought the urge to look over his shoulder. He tilted his head toward Jim instead and watched him bob one eyebrow at Simon's comment and shrug. 

"Looks like forensics has the scene under control," Jim said. "Any witnesses?" 

Simon shook his head. "None we know of. The story I've gathered so far is that a student found the bodies this morning as he cut through the woods on his way to the track. Barry has a start on some names and numbers for family and friends of the victims. I want you to interview the kid who found the bodies then get started on the track team." 

"We're on it," Jim said. 

Simon moved away, and Blair felt the warm slide of Jim's palm from his shoulder to the small of his back. He stepped forward after a small shove. 

"You okay, Chief?" Jim looked down at him. 

"Yeah," Blair said despite the urge to shudder. "How about you?" 

"I'll be better when we catch whoever did this." Jim ducked to avoid a low branch. 

Blair huffed out a breath of agreement and fell in stride beside him. As they left the woods and walked toward the track, the sense of being watched lingered, hovering behind him, losing focus as it gained weight. They reached the student in gray sweats and a blue windbreaker who had seen the bodies first. He looked like a racehorse on the block, penned up and wanting to run. Blair listened as Jim questioned him, caught the timbre of fear in his answers and gave in finally to the urge to follow the glances the kid kept darting toward the woods. They loomed now with a presence born of secrets, brooding and cheerless, constant in their summons like fingers tapping his shoulder then burrowing in. A shudder coursed through him. He felt helpless against it, as those fingers touched something inside him, something deep and guarded, something essential. 

"...We have your address and phone. We'll call if we need you." Jim's voice held the tone of wrapping things up; it pulled Blair's attention back in time to see the kid nod before sprinting onto the track. 

"I wonder if he'll outrun his demons." Blair watched the flash of white sneakers. 

"Not today, I'll bet." Jim said. 

The morning passed in a blur. They sidestepped the press at the homes of each victim and spoke to the families and close friends. The track team offered a few names of athletes with a grudge and they pulled each one in for questioning. By afternoon, Blair felt exhausted and Jim was in narrow focus mode, the one he fell into when too much swirled around him. In a case driven day of slippery facts, Jim kept a tight reign on the simple things like trash landing inside the trashcan and paper clips loose on his desk: "The cup, Chief. Put them in the cup." 

Blair finally moved to Connor's desk, since she was on stake out, and used her computer to research the symbols found at the crime scene. He kept returning to the details Jim had shared of his dream and wishing he could find the key to lock the story together. 

"You'll get it, Chief," Jim had said over a hurried lunch. He had looked matter-of-fact and the straight quality of his gaze made Blair's heart clip faster. Faith and expectation tumbled at him and, for an instant, he had felt like dodging but didn't. Blair held the gaze and nodded. 

"Sure, Jim," He had said, then proceeded to down a tuna sandwich and two glasses of raspberry tea, knowing his bladder would hound him but not caring. It was great tea; he would remember the flavor for a long time. 

Over the next hour, Blair nailed the language from the crime scene and began a search of the net's myriad sites on trees. He lost himself in the task, and started when Jim tapped his shoulder. 

"Going deaf, Chief? It's time for our update to Simon." Jim waved a folder at him. "I just got an interim report from Forensics. Let's go." 

Blair logged off and followed Jim to Simon's office. Simon waved them in as he finished a phone conversation that sounded unpleasant. Blair sat beside Jim at the conference table and pulled the Forensics report in front of him. 

"I understand. I'll keep you informed." Simon ended the call and came to join them at the table. 

"I just had a lovely talk with our Chief of Police." Simon smiled with false cheer. "I hope you two have something solid for me to report back to him?" 

"Here's what we have from Forensics so far, sir." Jim plucked the report back from Blair. "The cause of death for each victim is being listed as cardiopulmonary arrest secondary to blood loss. No surprise there. Also, there's evidence both men were drugged." 

"Any speculation about what the drug was?" Simon asked. 

"Some kind of paralytic agent," Jim said. 

Simon blew out a breath and nodded. "How about the interviews? What did you turn up?" 

"Basically, Hampton had a couple rivals at Rainier, but they don't pan out as likely murder suspects. Both have solid alibis. Family and friends haven't provided anything useful either." Jim rubbed his forehead. "Sorry, sir, but we're drawing a blank so far." 

"What do they have on the plant?" Simon asked. 

"It's some kind of palm tree. Specifically..." Jim scanned the report. 

"Paxiuba palm." Blair pointed to the line on the report. "I just read about it online." 

Simon looked at him with interest. "What did you find out?" 

"It has a long history with some religions and cultures. There's a legend in South America that it grew from a site where an exalted one was burned at the stake. Wood from this tree is supposed to produce musical instruments." 

"Is there a connection that you see, Chief?" 

"Yeah, the symbols drawn around the base of the tree match Ogham, which is an old language connected to Celtic lore and druids. It's actually called the 'tree alphabet.'" 

"And..." Simon prompted. 

"The symbols spell the word 'music,'" Blair said. 

Jim sat back and pulled on his lower lip. Simon leaned forward and rubbed both palms across his face. 

"So what's the connection here?" Simon pulled the forensics report in front of him. "The victim's feet were planted beneath this palm. I don't get a connection between music and feet and trees." 

Blair shook his head, frustration welling up. "I know. I'm not connecting the dots either. But there has to be some significance to the ceremony the killer went through. Maybe a sacrificial offering, or a wish for rebirth." 

"Sacrifice and rebirth?" Jim said. 

"Yeah," Blair looked at him with a thought forming. "It's as though the killer was using the physical representation of the victim's strength to nourish another facet." 

"But why music?" Jim asked. 

Blair could only shrug. "I don't know." 

"Did Hampton have some musical hobby?" Simon closed the folder and pushed it back to Jim. "What about Roger Stone? How does his death play into all this?" 

"Stone doesn't appear to have anyone with a grudge or motive to kill him," Jim said. "He seems to be pretty well thought of. I would lean toward putting him in the category of being in the wrong place at the wrong time." 

Blair nodded. "Could be. Or he could also have been integral to the ceremony." 

"How so?" 

"I don't know, but he was propped in a good position to watch whatever went on." 

"Stone was stabbed in the heart. He died instantly." Jim double-checked the file. "And, the estimated time of death suggests he did die after Hampton." Jim frowned. "It also states that Stone received a more concentrated dose of the drug than Hampton." 

"Maybe the killer wanted Hampton to struggle, but he just needed Stone to be an observer. He might have gotten off on overpowering Hampton." Blair shrugged. "Hampton was an athlete. He was strong. The killer may have coveted that strength." 

"Sounds twisted." Jim raised one eyebrow. "But plausible." 

"Or maybe this murder has more to do with Roger Stone than we think. I want all the angles checked on this." Simon pushed back from the table. "Dig up more facts on him. I don't care how well thought of he was; he probably has a rat in the closet somewhere. And find out if Hampton was some kind of musician on the side." 

Blair began to protest but held back at Jim's warning glare. 

"Yes, sir." Jim pushed back from the table and tapped Blair's arm. "Let's go, Chief." 

When they reached the bullpen, Blair perched on Jim's desk and shook his head. 

"I don't think this murder is about Roger Stone, Jim. I think he's just a prop like everything else at the scene. And I'm sure we would have uncovered any musical talent from Hampton in all the interviews and the search of his place." 

Jim nodded. "You're probably right, but 'probably' doesn't cut it here. Let's head back to Stone's home and see if we can pull any more information from his family." 

Blair sighed and played absently with a pencil, tapping it on the desk until Jim took it away and dropped it back in the holder. He grabbed both their coats off the rack and tossed Blair his before heading out of the bullpen. Blair groaned, pushed off the desk and followed. This day was growing longer and Sunday rested too far in the future to bring any comfort at all. 

* * *

Jim paid for the pizza and carried it back to the truck where Blair sat, bouncing his knee and fiddling with the radio dials. He reminded Jim of the kid from this morning, vibrating with tension and looking as if he wanted to chase something. It was past nine o'clock and Jim had no idea where energy like that could come from after a day like today. He wanted four things: pizza, a shower, bed, and Blair Sandburg wrapped around him, tossing out the quiet, rhythmic breaths of deep sleep. 

By the time they reached the loft, Jim's head throbbed from half hearted attempts to follow Blair's discourse on the Celtic social order, magical obligations and some tangent on the territorial implications of paper clip holders. They divvied the pizza up in halves, Jim's being the normal half, and ate. 

"The more I think about it, Jim, I'm sure your dream was a premonition, a warning of things to come." Blair spoke around a mouthful of cheese and other more strange ingredients. "Meditation is the answer here. We get you relaxed, take you back into the dream and find out where music fits into the picture." 

"Swallow, Chief." 

Blair did so with effort then scrubbed a napkin across his mouth and stood. 

"I'm going to check out the CD's. Maybe a nature based soundtrack would..." 

Jim reached out, snared Blair's wrist and hauled him back to the table. 

"Look, Road-Runner, you're going to sit your butt back in the chair and finish your pizza. Let's focus a little, shall we? One thing at a time. You're all over the place here, Chief." 

Blair shook his wrist free. 

"I'm going to what?" His voice rose as he glared at Jim. "I'm going to sit my butt in the chair? Is that what I just heard?" He shook his head. "No, can't be right. Because if it was, that would mean you think that you can tell me what to do." 

"Oh for Christ's sake." Jim tossed his own napkin on the table. "Don't turn this into a drama, Chief. I'm just saying you're wound up and you need to settle down." 

"Right. I need to settle down. Can't be that you need to loosen up. No." 

And Blair was off, stalking to the kitchen where he slapped his palm on the island, scattering mail on the floor in the process. Then he strode to the living room, pacing around the couches, wheeling his arms as he made some point about boxes and how Jim had his ass firmly stuck in one. Jim considered zooming his sight in on Blair's skull to search for a crack. 

"What the hell is up with you?" He walked toward Blair, pausing at a safe distance with one couch between them. "Why don't you try sitting down and taking a breath." 

"I don't want to sit down." Blair raised himself on his toes, arms flung wide. "Maybe I want to stand." 

He spoke like it was some novel concept, this idea of standing in the center of the room. Jim closed his mouth and stared, then raised his hands in a "whatever" gesture and walked toward the kitchen and the mess of envelopes and paper strewn across the floor. 

"Touch it and I will kick your ass." 

Jim froze, bent over, hand reaching for the pile. It was the tone that made him stand and turn. He met the sight of Blair in fight mode: face flushed, eyes sparkling and dark, chest rising and falling with an angry rhythm; sexy as hell, and totally about to win whatever kind of fight this was. 

Jim dropped his arms to his sides, his glance to the floor and walked toward Blair, slowly. He stopped a foot away, raised his eyes and met fierce blue. 

"Not touching," Jim said. 

Blair took a breath and the color of his eyes grew a fraction lighter. Jim moved another step forward, bumped one shoulder against Blair's, and felt heat rise in the air between them. Blair stared at Jim but his gaze seemed inward. Jim thought, if he listened hard, he would hear wheels turning, gears shifting. Blair sighed and dropped his chin. Jim moved one hand under the drape of curls, palmed the warm skin at the nape of Blair's neck and squeezed. 

"Fuck." Blair raised his face. The flush still warmed his cheeks but his eyes were no longer angry. 

"Is that an order?" Jim made his best attempt at an innocent expression. 

Blair huffed out a laugh and closed the final distance, wrapping his arms around Jim's waist and resting his face against Jim's chest. Jim wrapped him in a tight hug. They stood quietly for a moment and Jim listened to the wind pick up outside the loft. He rubbed a palm down Blair's back and kept his eyes focused forward, resisting the urge to glance at the mess caught in his peripheral vision; some mail on the floor, big deal. 

Blair moved his face into the curve of Jim's neck and sighed. "It's killing you, isn't it?" 

"What?" Jim almost jerked. 

Blair pulled back, grabbed Jim's face with two warm palms and stared him down. 

"You have exactly two minutes to pick up the mail, tidy your perimeter, do whatever you need; then you are going to meet me on the other side of the shower curtain." Blair quirked one eyebrow. "Do I make myself clear?" 

"Crystal." Jim nodded. 

"Good." 

Blair walked to the bathroom door and tossed a look of corruption at Jim on his way inside. Jim heard the faucet squeal, water splash tile and the sound of a zipper. He stacked the mail on the table, resisted the urge to separate bills from junk, then bee-lined toward the bathroom. Two out of four wishes falling into place; not bad so far, he thought. 

They made love in a rush. All hands and tongues and awkward angles and fast. Blair held him after, as the water pounded down. 

"I don't know how the music fits, Jim." 

Jim kissed his forehead then his mouth, sucking his lower lip in, teasing it with his teeth until Blair moaned. 

"Maybe that's because it shouldn't fit. This is some crazy son-of-a-bitch. If he has a master plan, it might only make sense to him." Jim said. 

He watched Blair roll the thought around, watched ideas flash behind his eyes then kissed him again when the crease began to form between his eyebrows. He kissed without mercy, intent on one thing: reeling Blair back from the demons. Jim grinned at the effect as Blair's eyes lost focus. 

"Bed," he said, and gently shook Blair's face. 

They finally made it upstairs, where moonlight dropped from the skylight in a square, turning white sheets blue. Jim felt warm and comfortable with Blair's head on his chest, one arm curled about his waist, leg hooked over Jim's. Four for four, Jim thought as he began to slide away. 

//Jim ran toward the moon. Trees pierced it like a silver ball hung too low in the sky. Something about it lured him in, past the field of wet grass into woods where tall shadows fell from trees in silhouette against the light. He ran fast, legs pumping, stronger than any moment he could remember. Barely sweating, he felt his heart thump, heard the thrum of blood through his veins, the pound in his ears like waves hitting shore. He ran faster, air whistled past him, the currents bore him up and he became a thing with blurred edges, a soft sigh in the night, humming through the trees like a melody, strong enough to rattle all the leaves in the wood. 

He became the wind.// 

Ringing, ringing, over and over. Jim woke with a jerk. The phone. Blair snored through the event, draped heavily across Jim's chest, warm and oblivious. Jim grabbed the receiver. 

"Ellison." 

"Jim, it's Simon. We've got another murder." 

"Shit. Okay. What time is it?" Jim blinked at the clock, trying to bring the red numbers into focus. 

"Five. I'm dressing now. I'll meet you and Sandburg at the scene, north end of Union Park." Simon paused. "You got that?" 

"Yeah, yeah. Union Park, north end. Got it." Jim rubbed his thumb against Blair's cheek. "Any info yet?" 

"You can tell Sandburg his music connection played through. The victims are Vincent Allegri and his wife." 

Jim scanned his memory, trying to place the name. 

"Pianist," Simon offered. "He was local talent, scheduled for a concert this weekend. Looks like we might have a serial killer on our hands." 

The park consisted of eighty acres of woods in the center of Cascade's art district. Galleries lined Union Street, which marked the south boundary of the park. On the northern edge, Theatre of the Woods sat with its large, white dome. Vincent Allegri's body lay on the ground behind the theatre, hands missing, arms dangling into a stream that ran in a curving path through the wood. His wife, Mona, sat in the style of Roger Stone: propped against a tree, knife protruding from her chest. 

Jim had told Blair of his dream on the drive to the park. Now, over an hour later, he pulled Blair aside to pick his brain. As they moved from the crime scene, Blair kept glancing back, looking toward Mona Allegri's body. 

"You with me, Chief?" Jim pulled Blair's chin forward. 

"Yeah, yeah." Blair shivered as the wind picked up. "Weird how her eyes just follow you, isn't it?" 

Jim glanced at the dead woman and shrugged. "I hadn't noticed." He rubbed his forehead, last night's headache lingering after too little sleep. "Any ideas here, Chief?" 

Blair blew out a breath and ran one hand through his hair. He suffered from bed head and, under other circumstances, Jim would have found it amusing. Now, all he wanted to do was smooth the curls back and tame them. 

"If we're looking at consistencies in method, we have several factors to choose from: the spectator, the removal of body parts." Blair frowned. "The question is where are his hands?" 

"Planted somewhere, no doubt." Jim shrugged. "The dogs are sniffing out the territory around the crime scene and into the park. At this point, I feel like I might as well join them. I'm sure I'd have better luck at tracking the physical evidence than I am at putting the pattern together here." 

Blair nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, well, at least one clear thing stands out. Water is the focal point for this murder." 

Jim glanced at the process underway to pull Vincent Allegri's body away from the stream's edge and into a body bag. 

"Where does this stream empty?" Blair asked. 

"There's a pond toward the middle of the park." Jim returned his glance to Blair in time to see light flare in his eyes. "Why? What are you thinking?" 

"I'm thinking that Vincent Allegri bled to death, like Dan Hampton." Blair walked toward the stream. "But his blood fed this stream instead of the earth. " 

"And how does that connect?" Jim asked. 

"The person behind all this has a jones for nature, trees in particular. Add this to the use of Ogham and it points to druidic ritual." Blair paused as if expecting Jim to take the theory and run. 

"So..." Jim pursed his lips and stared back. 

"So," Blair waved his hands. "He's performing the murders in accordance with the realms." 

"Realms." Jim folded his arms and nodded, wisely. 

Blair grinned. "Trees are the bridge between the realms of earth and sky. Water is how they communicate. Areas with water are sacred, a source of inspiration." 

"It all sounds like a power trip." 

"Yeah." Blair nodded. "I'm guessing so anyway. I mean he's obviously putting his own spin on the whole thing, but there's enough similarity to make me guess there's a connection." 

"Your guess is good enough for me, Chief." Jim draped an arm around Blair's shoulders and steered him toward the stream. "Let's see where this takes us." 

Wind rattled the trees above them, bending limbs in the direction of the stream. Leaves dropped into the water, swirling in small currents, dipping under then bobbing up to the surface like arrows pointing the way. The path of the stream ended at a large pond surrounded by trees. 

"Pond of the Moon," Blair read the plaque near the water's edge and snorted. "Kind of a dull name." 

"Don't knock simplicity, Chief." 

Blair grinned. "I would never knock you." 

Jim whapped the back of his head. 

"Ow." 

Jim smiled at the mild complaint then turned away from the pond and focused on the stream. It grew wider near the mouth where rocks and twigs caused the water to rush and tumble. A burst of sunlight through the clouds bounced light off the water's surface and Jim blinked. He moved his glance to the ground bordering the stream and his vision narrowed, suddenly caught by a line of symbols drawn into the earth. 

"Here we go, Chief." 

Blair whipped around to face him then followed the direction of Jim's finger. They squatted near the stream and Blair sucked in a breath. He pulled out his notepad and pen, and jotted down the message as Jim dialed Simon's number on his cell. 

"Simon, you can tell them to call the dogs off and send Forensics south to the pond." 

"Found the hands?" 

Jim dialed up scent and found a trace of blood. "Yeah, and our next clue." 

"On my way," Simon said. 

"Beauty is mine." Blair clicked his pen and dropped it back into his pocket. "That's what it spells. 'Beauty is mine.'" 

Jim blew out a breath. "Vague as hell." 

"Let's think about your latest dream," Blair said. "Was there anything about it that you could connect to beauty?" 

"I don't know." Jim frowned. "The wind became music. I guess that..." 

"What?" Blair pounced on Jim's hesitation. 

Jim remembered it then, the start of the dream and the round, white moon, resting as a backdrop to the woods. It had pulled him in, lured him forward. 

"The moon was beautiful," Jim said. "There was so much light. Every tree cast a shadow. I remember light filtering through the woods." 

The forensic team arrived then, followed by Simon. Vincent Allegri's hands were found buried beneath the section of earth where the killer had traced his message. Jim watched the process of gathering evidence from the scene, aware of Blair pacing along the pond's edge, twigs snapping beneath his feet. Finally, he gave in to his partner's nervous energy and took his leave of the site. He caught up with Blair, who now stood at the entrance to the Nature Center not far from the pond. He stood in front of a bulletin board, fingers pressed against his lower lip. 

"Okay Chief, let's go." 

Blair reached blindly for Jim, eyes still focused on the bulletin board. 

"Look," he said. 

Jim glanced over Blair's shoulder and drew a quick breath. Among the posters stapled to the board was an advertisement. It held the image of a woman with the moon behind her, the moon from Jim's dream, large and round and white, pierced by trees. He glanced lower to read the caption for the photo. "Elena Moon wears Radiance, the scent for beautiful moments." 

"Where have I seen her before?" Jim asked. 

"She's on all the 'Welcome to Cascade' billboards across the city." Blair turned to Jim. "She's from here. She won some local contest for a modeling contract." 

"Didn't I tell you, Chief? I knew you'd figure all this out." Jim grinned and squeezed Blair's shoulder. 

He pulled his cellphone out and dialed Simon, watching Blair's eyes shine and his cheeks turn pink as he shrugged and tried for casual. 

"Captain," Jim said. "I think we may have caught a break..." 

* * *

Newman Studios were located on the top floor of Rayburn Tower. It took Jim's badge and a call to Major Crime confirming their business to get them in. A tall man with a clipboard and a frown met them at the elevator. 

"Larry Morgan." He nodded at them. "I'm Elena's manager. What can I do for you, Detective?" 

"I need to ask Ms. Moon some questions," Jim said. 

Blair watched the photo shoot underway in the center of the large room. Elena Moon stood in a flowing dress, fabric swirling around her from the breeze of a fan. Painted on the wall behind her was a white moon, topping a band of trees. The trees formed a thick forest of dark green with black hues casting shadows between them, creating a feel of dimension, a sense of presence. 

"Turn your face up." A photographer directed her, snapping picture after picture. "That's it. Good." 

"Perhaps I could answer your questions," Morgan offered. 

"Thank you, but we need to speak to Ms. Moon," Jim said. "We're hoping she can help us with our current investigation." 

Morgan checked his wristwatch. "This session is about to wrap. Can you wait ten minutes, then I'll call for a break?" 

Jim blew out an impatient breath but nodded. 

"Thank you, Detective." Morgan tapped his clipboard and walked away. 

"Jim, chill out." Blair whispered. "No sense in pissing her off. Actually, you might want to let me do the talking. She's probably used to special treatment, man. I doubt she'll like your hard-ass style." 

"What am I going for, Mr. Congeniality?" Jim spared him a disgusted look. "Don't worry about it, Chief." 

"Sorry," he muttered. "Sheesh, touchy." 

Blair hid a grin and turned to look around the studio. A row of photographs against one wall snared his attention: a series of black and white images of the moon. Hazy and surreal, they captured the moon in all its phases. 

"This isn't working. You aren't giving me anything to work with, Elena." The photographer sounded irritated. 

Blair returned his attention to the set, where the man was settling Elena into a different pose, a painful looking position with her back arched. He motioned for one of the crew to bring the fan closer then walked back to his camera, adjusted the height of the tripod and began shooting. 

"How long do I have to hold this, Jack?" Elena asked him after a few moments. 

"Allow the pain to show, Elena. Not everything is about smiling." He kept shooting, picture after picture. "That's it. That's it," he said as Elena's eyes shot sparks. 

Hair swirled about her face in long tendrils, coiling and snapping in the breeze. Her arms began to quiver from the effort of holding the pose. 

"Jack, this hurts." 

He kept shooting. Blair thought at first he was ignoring her, but then looked closely and reconsidered. Shoulders hunched, eye to the lens, he seemed lost in his own world. He was a big man, taller than Jim and about Simon's weight. Blair guessed him to be in his mid-forties. 

"The lady needs a break." Jim brushed past Blair and stalked toward the set. 

"Oh boy," Blair murmured as he caught the no-bullshit tone in Jim's voice. 

The set grew quiet and the photographer turned to stare. 

"Pardon me?" He blinked at Jim as if shaking off a daze. 

Jim pulled his badge out. "Detective Ellison. I need a moment with Ms. Moon." 

"Oh, I see." He nodded and turned to Elena. "Seems you have a visitor, Elena." 

Elena unwound and stretched before walking toward Jim. 

"What's this about?" she asked. 

"Is there someplace we can speak privately?" Jim asked. 

"This might be a good time for a break," Morgan said. "Ten minutes. Elena, why don't you take these gentlemen to the lounge area?" 

The crew scattered and Elena led them to a corner of the studio with soft chairs, bottled water and fruit. After the initial exposure, Blair decided he didn't like Elena Moon. She was beautiful and intelligent with undeniable charisma. All in all, she was great except for the fact that she looked at Jim as if he were the last chocolate truffle in the box. 

"Detective Ellison, is it?" She scanned Jim as if sizing him up. "You saved my life. Another second in that position and I would have been stuck." She smiled again, lips softly curving. "Call me Elena, please." 

"Elena." Jim smiled back, a friendly smile, a damn sight friendlier than Blair felt it needed to be. "Is your work always that intense?" 

Blair sighed and glared at Jim. Damned if he wasn't going for Mr. Congeniality. 

"Jack is truly an artist," Elena said. "And he's a perfectionist so working with him can be a challenge, but it's worth it. He's helping me build a career." She tilted her head and lifted one eyebrow. "So, do you have a first name, Detective?" 

"Jim," he offered quickly. 

Blair felt invisible. 

"Good to meet you, Jim." She offered her hand for a shake. 

Jim shared his smile with her again, the mega-watt rendition, and Blair felt a slow burn begin somewhere in the vicinity of his spleen. 

He coughed. Twice. And Jim finally turned to him, smug look in place. 

"Oh, sorry Chief." He grinned like a bastard. "This is Blair Sandburg." 

"Oh, hi," Elena said. 

She plopped into one of the chairs, grabbed an orange and began to peel it. 

"Is this about Dan?" She waved Jim and Blair toward the chairs beside her. 

Blair shot a surprised glance at Jim, who sat on the chair to Elena's right while Blair perched on the overstuffed mushroom-shaped contraption to her left. 

"You knew Dan Hampton?" Jim asked. 

"I dated him a few months ago, before my career took off," she said. "It didn't work out, though. He took up with some runner at the college." She smirked. "I heard he dumped her too." 

"When did you last see him?" 

"Actually, it was only a couple of weeks ago," she said. "I ran into him here at the studio. He was going to do some sort of public service ad for the college. He invited me out to lunch and we caught up on old times." She shook her head. "I can't believe what happened. Have you found who did it?" 

"We're still investigating," Jim said. "Do you know of any reason why someone might have wanted to kill him?" 

"He was driven. He could be an asshole," she shrugged. "He made enemies." 

She pulled the orange into halves and offered Jim one. 

"No thanks," he said. "There was another murder early this morning. Did you by chance know Vincent Allegri?" 

Elena paled and glanced sharply at Jim. 

"The pianist." She looked at her hands. Blair noticed they were shaking. When she spoke again, her voice was a whisper. "He's dead?" 

"Yes." Jim leaned toward her. "Elena, if you know something, you need to tell us." 

She squeezed her eyes shut and took a breath. 

"He was married. It would be harmful if word got out... I mean, he wouldn't want his wife to know," she began then paused and looked at Jim. Her eyes grew bright. 

"His wife was also murdered," Jim said. 

"Oh." She blinked and tears rolled down her cheeks. "Oh my God." 

"Were you involved with Vincent Allegri?" Jim kept his voice low. 

Elena nodded. "We had an affair. No one knows. It only lasted a couple of months. He wouldn't leave his wife, so we ended it." Her breath hitched. "God, Vincent." 

"I'm sorry," Jim said. 

She looked up, studied Jim for a moment as if gauging the truth behind his words. 

"Thank you." Warmth crept into her eyes. 

"Elena, until we find who is responsible for these murders, it would be a good idea to keep you under police protection." Jim spoke gently. "You could be in danger." 

Morgan walked up to them at that moment. 

"Larry, not now," Elena said. 

"Elena, the crew is ready to resume. Jack has to get more time with you. We're barely half through with this set and his shooting schedule is jammed tomorrow. Can you wrap whatever business this is up so we can get back to work?" 

Morgan hovered and Blair nearly flinched at the glare sent their way. Elena tossed the orange back in the fruit bowl and stood. She wiped her face with the back of her hand. 

"You've been crying." Morgan grabbed her chin and turned her face toward him. "Damn it." 

"Hey, there's no reason to..." Blair began then stopped as Jim stepped forward, knocking Morgan's hand off Elena. 

"Look, Ace, my business with Ms. Moon takes priority over your shooting schedule." His voice was low, his attention focused. 

Blair wondered if he should count to ten or just jump between the two of them now. 

"Elena." 

Jack Newman had walked over and now stood beside Blair. He clasped Blair's shoulder. 

"Is there a problem?" 

"Jack," Elena said. "I don't think I can finish the shoot today. I've got... There's been..." 

"It's alright," Jack said. "We'll figure out another time. Are you in trouble?" 

Elena sighed and shook her head. "I don't know. There's been a murder. The police think I could be in danger." 

"My God, who was killed?" Jack looked to Blair. 

"I would prefer that we not discuss the case right now," Jim said then turned to Elena. "We need to work out the details for your protection." 

"I want you to stay with me." Elena grasped Jim's arm. "You can watch over me, can't you?" Her voice rose as she looked at Morgan. "Larry, I want you to arrange it. Do you hear me?" 

"Elena, calm down," Morgan said. "Let's hear what the Detective has in mind." 

"Those letters! Larry, you have to show him the letters," she said. 

"Letters?" Jim looked at Morgan. 

"She's received some strange mail." Morgan shrugged. "It's to be expected. She's a celebrity." 

"We should have shown them to the police, Larry. I told you!" Elena looked pale. 

Jim took her arm and guided her back to the chairs. She sat heavily and dropped her face in her hands. 

"How about you show them to me now?" Jim looked pointedly at Morgan. 

"They're at my office. I'll have to find them," Morgan said. 

"Do that." Jim sat beside Elena. "Can you bring them to the Major Crime Unit?" 

Morgan folded his arms across his chest and nodded as Jim turned his attention back toward Elena. 

"I need to ask you a few more questions, Elena," Jim said. 

"Okay." Elena grasped Jim's hand. 

Jim began to speak then paused to shoot a look of irritation at Newman who seemed in no hurry to leave the conversation. Blair decided to head off further conflict at the pass. 

"Um, Mr. Newman, why don't we give them some privacy? Would you mind showing me around your studio?" 

Newman held Jim's gaze for a second before replying. "I would love to show you around." He looked at Blair and smiled. "Please, call me Jack." 

Jack's hand slid from Blair's shoulder to his waist. Jim's jaw twitched and Blair felt a tiny flutter of satisfaction-- just enough to take the edge off as he watched Elena weave her fingers with Jim's. 

"Are you a detective?" Jack asked as they walked toward the set. 

"No. I'm a consultant for the department," Blair said. "How about you? How long have you had this studio?" 

"Two years. I mainly freelanced before then. It takes time to build up a client base and, to be honest, I was reluctant to get into the business of fashion photography." 

"Really?" 

"Too dull. Clothing and perfume. Please." Jack rolled his eyes. "But, it does support my more artistic endeavors." 

"Elena seems to think your commercial work is artistic," Blair said. 

They stopped near the edge of the set and Jack removed the camera he had been using in the shoot from the tripod. 

"Yes, well, Elena is an exception. She has a quality the camera loves. I actually look forward to working with her." He grinned sheepishly. "Sometimes I can get carried away with a thought as you saw today. She usually lets me get away with it." 

Blair nodded. "You looked like you were really into the moment." 

"Exactly. I lose myself in moments. Perfect description. Especially if the subject matter I'm focusing on intrigues me." Jack smiled at him. "I imagine I could grow quite lost in a moment spent with you." 

Blair blinked and looked away, laughing nervously. "Yeah, well, I've been known to lose a few people." He whirled a finger near his head. "My thoughts can spin out of control; and they tend to spill out. It can be annoying." 

"Oh, I doubt that." Jack tucked a curl behind Blair's ear. "Do you mind if I take a shot or two?" 

Blair frowned. "What?" 

"Your picture." He tilted Blair's chin up. "You have a unique look, quite lovely." 

Blair felt his face grow hot. "Um, I don't know..." 

Jack pointed the camera toward Blair and adjusted the lens. "This won't hurt a bit." 

Blair tried not to flinch at the click and whirr as Jack took several shots. He felt stupid and totally uncomfortable, and therefore began to jabber. 

"You know, in some cultures, taking a picture of someone is equated with stealing their soul. Of course, you probably know that. I mean, no doubt..." 

"What do you believe?" Jack asked. 

"I don't know." Blair looked at the camera, felt the stare of the lens. "It might explain why I feel uncomfortable whenever I get my picture taken." 

Jack laughed. "It's good for me that Elena doesn't have that issue." He took one more shot then laid the camera on a table behind him. "I'm sorry, Blair. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Holding a camera, capturing images, is like breathing for me. It's essential. I forget how abnormal that is." He walked closer to Blair. "Can I make it up to you? Dinner perhaps?" 

Blair jerked in surprise as Jim suddenly appeared beside him. 

"Chief, Simon is sending over an officer to watch Elena." Jim's palm felt warm against his shoulder. "We'll need to head to the station as soon as he gets here. Simon wants an update." 

"Sure, Jim. Are you finished with Elena already?" 

"For now." Jim nodded. "She's pretty upset. We'll talk with her again later." He turned his attention to Jack. "My apologies to you, Mr. Newman, for having to interrupt your session." Jim's voice held an edge. "If you don't mind, I have a few questions I need to ask you." 

"Certainly, Detective. What can I help you with?" 

"Elena mentioned that Dan Hampton was a client of yours." 

"Yes. It began as work for the college, some advertisements about the track program. It wasn't for profit. Also, since he turned out to be a friend of Elena's, I donated a bit of time to help him create a portfolio. I did a shoot at the college, some shots of him on the track. I've never developed them." Jack frowned. "Terrible shame. Do you have any idea who might have killed him?" 

"We're building a list of suspects," Jim said. "Do you know why he came to you for the work?" 

"He told me it was because the college recommended me." Jack shook his head. "I more had the feeling it was Elena's idea. I think she had feelings for him." 

"Why did you think that?" Jim asked. 

"I overheard Larry lecturing Elena about him, telling her to give up on Dan because he wasn't interested in her." Jack frowned. "The boy was all ego. I imagine he wanted to date someone who wouldn't outshine him with the press." He shrugged. "But that's just my guess. It wasn't my business." 

"Do you still have the film you took of him at the track?" Jim asked. "Would you be able to develop it for us?" 

"Certainly. I'll work on it tonight," Jack said. "You can plan to pick the photographs up this evening if you like." 

"That would be great. Thank you." 

The officer assigned as protection for Elena arrived just before noon. She took the news that Jim would not be able to personally guard her with a small tantrum, followed by tears. Jim's promise to check on her frequently was the final compromise and Blair found himself pondering fame and the fifteen-minute theory as they stood waiting for the elevator. Jim pressed the button impatiently and Blair glanced back to see Jack placing camera equipment into a case. 

"Damn slow elevator," Jim groused. 

"Ah, the model isn't around so now you're in a hurry to leave." Blair stared at the elevator and waited for a response. 

"Jealous are we?" Jim asked. 

"Oh, please." Blair heaved a sad sigh. "It's so obvious she has a thing for father-figures." 

"Could be," Jim said, aggravating Blair to no end by not taking the bait. "Of course, it could also mean that she likes tall men. You know, the kind who can look her in the eye without sustaining a neck injury." 

Blair rolled his eyes then glared as Jim rocked back on his heels, grinning the grin of a Cheshire. The elevator dinged and Blair pulled his altogether too happy lover inside. 

"Laugh it up, De-tec-tive..." 

The elevator doors closed and Blair found himself pressed against the wall and effectively silenced by a hungry mouth on his. Then, just as quickly, the doors opened and Jim pulled away from him. 

"Oh." Jack stood outside the elevator, camera case draped across his shoulder, a look of surprise on his face. "Oops." 

"Sorry. Really. Our oops, not yours," Blair babbled. 

"Must have forgotten to press the button once we got in here," Jim said. 

Blair stared at Jim and wondered how he managed to sound so calm with his face flaming like that. 

"Not a problem. I'll catch the next one." Jack grinned and winked at Blair as the doors slid closed. 

Jim pressed the button for ground level. Twice. 

"So, what's with the wink action from the picture man, Chief?" Jim resumed his previous position within Blair's personal space. "He's working hard at putting the moves on you. Any reason I should be worried?" 

Blair cupped Jim's ass and squeezed. "Depends on if there's any reason _I_ should be worried, Daddy?" 

He grinned like a loon until Jim pressed the stop button. 

"Shit, Jim. What are you doing? He's up there waiting. He's going to _know_." 

"Exactly." Jim pressed his hands on either side of Blair's head and smiled. It was the dangerous smile, the one that made Blair consider helmets and safety bars. 

"Oh man," he said then shut up while Jim Ellison used his mouth to explain precisely where he stood in relation to photographers and models and the way things were in the Sandburg-Ellison universe. 

They returned to Major Crime and made Simon Banks a happy man with report of possible motives for the murders and a plausible link to Elena Moon. He sat behind his desk and nodded at them. 

"Good work, both of you. Now, get me a list of possible suspects." 

"Her manager is pulling together mail from fans and a list of admirers who have struck them as odd. Elena couldn't give us any names of personal acquaintances she felt could be involved in the murders," Jim said. 

"Couldn't or wouldn't?" Simon asked. 

"That's what we're going to find out, sir." Jim tugged at Blair's sleeve until he slid from his current perch on the conference table. 

Simon's phone rang and he dismissed them with a "Get to it." 

Blair followed Jim to his desk and began to ask where they should start when Simon's door suddenly opened. 

"Joel called. He and Connor are watching the warehouse," he said. "They've got confirmation on the buy. It's going down fast. The Hawks have just arrived and Kennet is on his way. Let's move." 

* * *

"Don't worry, Chief," Jim had said. "This will be a cakewalk." 

Blair sat inside the surveillance van now, thinking how full of shit his partner was. Simon adjusted his headset and spoke to the audio/video technician in the back of the van. Simon directed the team into position around the warehouse then checked in with the SWAT commander. Snipers were positioned on surrounding roofs to take advantage of the view provided by large windows near the roof of the building. It looked to be a secure setup for the bust, but Blair felt on edge. Too much had happened over the past two days, too much information floated in Jim's head. Distractions. Blair knew Jim's ability to focus whirled on a level far above his own, but right now Jim was out there and Blair was stuck a block away with a pair of binoculars and no means to touch him, to rein him in from doing something stupid, something heroic, something typically Ellison. Blair bounced his knee until Simon's glare registered, then he sat still and focused the binoculars on a stack of crates to the left of the entrance. Jim crouched somewhere behind those crates. 

Simon called for an audio check and each of the team responded in turn. 

"Come on," Blair muttered to no one in particular. 

"Kennet will show, Sandburg. Just settle down." Simon adjusted his own binoculars. "Speak of the devil..." 

Blair looked forward and saw a black limousine pulling up to the front of the warehouse. 

"Looks like Kennet has arrived." Simon's voice crackled across the radio as he informed the team. "Everyone hold their position until I give the word. We give him time to hang himself before moving in. I want him on tape with incriminating evidence the DA can bank on." 

"Check," echoed in response. 

Large doors opened to allow the limousine in. Blair and Simon swiveled to face the back of the van where a television monitor displayed the action from inside the building. Blair spotted Kennet as he stepped from the back of the limo and walked toward the leader of the Hawks. 

"'Bout time we met face to face, Big Man." The gang leader spoke first. 

"Normally, I don't deal directly with the customers but for you, Tucker, I make an exception." Kennet smiled like a politician. "I see a long and lucrative partnership in our future." 

"Cut the crap and show us what you got." Tucker pointed to the crates resting several feet away from them. 

"Of course." Kennet nodded at a man with a crowbar who stood near the crates. 

The man put the tool to use and soon the crates were open. Assault rifles and various other weapons Blair couldn't identify were distributed to the gang who grinned and whistled. 

"Where's the ammo?" someone yelled. 

"In the crate," Kennet answered. "Where's my product?" 

"Keep it down." Tucker scowled at his men then returned his attention to Kennet. "Looks like you've kept your end of the deal." He snapped his fingers and one of the gang brought what looked like a trash sack forward. Tucker reached in and removed a smaller bag. "Best meth in the state of Washington. You're getting the sweet end of this deal, Big Man." 

"Since we are businessmen," Kennet said, "I know you'll understand the need for a brief test of the product." 

Tucker tossed the bag to Kennet. "Knock yourself out." 

Minutes passed as a man in a dark suit and thick glasses performed what looked to be a tedious process of quality testing. Finally, he stood, pushed the glasses up his nose and nodded at Kennet. 

"Looks like we have a deal," Kennet said. 

Simon smiled. "All units. Move in." 

The scene became a blur of movement. Blair caught site of Jim after he shot the lock on the side door then barreled into the warehouse. Within seconds, the team stormed the building. 

"Freeze! Police!" 

Blair watched Jim duck and roll as shots rang out. His stomach clenched despite the practiced ease of Jim's movements. He struggled against the urge to reach forward and touch the monitor, as if covering Jim's image with his hand might keep him safe. 

"Keep down, damn it," Blair hissed as Jim lifted his head, steadied his gun and fired. 

"SWAT team, take your shots," Simon ordered. 

Jim lay on his stomach, returning fire, as the scramble for ammunition in the crate began. Kennet ducked inside the limousine while his men fell around him. The limo lurched forward then into reverse, squealing backwards out of the warehouse and directly toward Jim. Blair's heart stopped. 

"Ellison, roll!" Simon barked into the radio. 

The world shrank to one square of movement on a black and white screen. Blair felt displaced, thrown from his body as he watched the impossible: Jim disappearing beneath a flash of black metal. Then, in an instant, the universe righted itself as the limo disappeared from the screen, replaced by the sight of Jim Ellison, whole and alive, sitting up, taking aim. Blair hurtled back to himself, gasped like a swimmer at the finish line, and felt his heart begin again. Jim fired and Blair heard the pop of a tire, the squeal and groan of metal on metal. Then Jim was up and running, off the screen, out of sight, and Blair knew it was over before the team called out "all clear," before Simon barreled out of the van, before the technician shot a fist in the air. It was over and Jim Ellison had a lesson to learn about the definition of the word cakewalk. 

* * *

By evening, the paperwork on Jim's desk had tripled, and the flurry of activity in Major Crime had settled into the focused hum of wrapping things up and heading home. The bust had gone down without a single casualty on the side of law enforcement. The District Attorney smiled at Simon, who in turn smiled at the group of tired looking detectives in the bullpen. Features about the bust and the size of the weapons and meth stash that had been taken off the streets played on every news station in the city. Jim endured ribbing over the scowl the cameras had captured as he pushed Kennet into the back seat of a black and white unit at the scene. 

"The least you could have done is smile, Jim," Connor teased. 

Jim glared at her without heat. He could take the jokes so long as Kennet was behind bars. Nothing short of a collar on the latest case could make him feel better. All in all, it had been one hell of a good day. Of course, Blair was pissed about the under-the-limo maneuver he'd barely pulled off, but Jim had some ideas about how to smooth those feathers, including a reminder about a certain garbage truck. He grinned and reined in that train of thought as his cock began to anticipate the mission. 

"What are you grinning about?" Blair reached around Connor and placed a file in Jim's out box. 

"He's proving his face won't crack if he smiles, Sandy." Connor winked at Blair. 

"Isn't there paperwork accumulating on your desk, Connor?" Jim asked. 

"Yes, and it's going to stay there until tomorrow," she said. "I'm done in." 

Jim's phone rang. Connor, who happened to be perched on the desk beside it, picked it up. 

"Jim Ellison's desk." She paused. "Yes, he's right here." 

Jim reached for the receiver but Connor handed it to Blair. "It's a Mr. Jack Newman for you, Sandy." 

She stood and patted Jim on the stomach. "You're scowling again, Jimbo." 

Jim ignored her as she walked away, his attention focused on Blair. 

"This is Blair Sandburg." Blair took Connor's place on Jim's desk. 

Jim dialed up his hearing without shame. This probably had relation to their current murder case. Actually, it damn well better have some relation or the picture man might find himself on the painful end of an Ellison bad mood. 

"Blair, this is Jack Newman. We met earlier today." 

"Yes, of course, Mr. Newman. What can I do for you?" Blair asked. 

"Well, for starters, I need to remind you to call me Jack." He laughed. "I hope you don't mind me calling you Blair?" 

Jim huffed out a disgusted breath. 

"No, not at all." Blair signaled Jim to hush. 

"I'm calling to let you know I have the pictures developed that you and your detective wanted," Jack said. " I think you will find them useful." 

"Why do you say that?" 

"I would prefer not to speak about it over the phone." 

"Could you bring them to the station?" Blair asked. 

"Unfortunately, I have a pressing deadline. I'm working in the darkroom now and must catch a flight to Paris later tonight. Would you be able to bring your detective to the studio before midnight and pick them up?" 

"Sure, we can drop by." Blair glanced at Jim. "We have a few things to tie up here at the station first." 

"Yes, I can imagine you are busy. I heard of the arrests today. All Elena could speak about during her session with me was Detective Ellison. He's fast turning into quite the hero to her." 

"Yeah, well, that seems to be a recurring role for him." Blair's voice took on an edge. 

Jim smacked him on the thigh and made wrap-it-up motions. 

"We'll be by later, Jack." 

"Thank you, Blair. I appreciate this." 

Blair hung up the phone and turned to Jim with a dark look. "So, Mr. Hero, I suppose you caught all that?" 

"'Would you be able to bring _your_ detective to the studio?'" Jim mimicked the photographer's lofty tone. "Interesting that he asked to talk to you." 

Blair shrugged. "Maybe heroic types like yourself scare him." 

"Could be." Jim nodded. "He should ask his supermodel how to get over that phobia." 

Blair spared him a disgusted look. "'Model,' Jim. Lose the 'super' part. I doubt anyone's heard of Elena Moon in Paris. I doubt they've heard of Eleanor Kowalski either, which is her real name." 

"Minor detail." Jim fought the urge to grin. "Well, he's going to have to wait an hour or so until I can finish the arrest record. Simon seems to think I need to write down the details now or they'll dwindle by tomorrow." 

"Gee, can't imagine why he'd think that, considering how verbose you are." 

"Careful, or I'll make you write it for me." Jim trapped Blair's neck in the crook of his arm and let his knuckles dance the noogie. "Glad to see your mood's improving, Chief." 

Blair pulled free and sent a mild glare his way. Face flushed, lips turned up in a half smile, he rested in the perfect angle for a kiss. Jim nearly groaned at the effort involved in not leaning in and staking his claim on that mouth. 

"Yeah, well, I'm going to need some help keeping my mood elevated when we get home." Blair's eyes sent a message. 

Jim felt warm. He felt warm all over. 

"Not a problem, Chief." 

Blair grinned as Jim adjusted himself before sitting down to finish typing his report in the computer. Blair reached across the desk to the file holding the letters Morgan had dropped by earlier in the day. Each page was ziplocked in a bag. The only fingerprints identified on them so far belonged to Elena and Morgan. Jim had looked them over quickly, in between dealing with fallout from the bust, but still needed to study them. There were only three letters, one received each month since Elena began the modeling campaign. 

"So what do you think of those, Chief?" 

"I had a chance to read them and do a little research." Blair put his glasses on and lifted one of the pages from the box. "It sounds like whoever sent them thinks Elena is some kind of Moon Goddess." 

"The promise of sacrifice in her name no doubt is what has her spooked," Jim said. 

"Yeah. Makes you wonder what the sacrifices were before the killer began focusing on humans." 

"And why two in two days?" Jim asked. 

"Well, I've been thinking about that," Blair said. "Since the killer is into Celtic ritual, maybe he's putting his own spin on the ritual of the 'Threefold Death.' Like for instance, the Lindow man. Archeologists found his body in a bog in England. He'd been hit in the head, strangled and tossed in the bog to drown. He died of three things at once, one death for each of the realms: earth, sky, water." 

"Chief, it's been a long day. Cut to the chase." Jim rubbed his forehead. 

"Okay, okay." Blair leaned forward and peered at him over his glasses. "My theory is that our killer is performing one murder in each of the realms. Dan Hampton's death happened in the realm of earth, Vincent Allegri's in the realm of water." 

"That leaves one more realm," Jim said. "One more ritual." 

"Yeah." Blair nodded. "And tonight is the third night of a full moon." 

"Great," Jim said. "And to find the next two victims, all we have to do to is search the sky." 

* * *

Blair struggled to hold back a yawn as they arrived at Rayburn Tower. It was a few minutes before ten and he wanted nothing more than to be home in bed with Jim wrapped around him. A storm threatened and they hurried toward the entrance as rain began to fall. Blair opened the door to the building then yelped as a blast of wind took it from his grasp, slamming it shut again. They finally made it inside as a roll of thunder shook the glass of the entryway. The guard at the front desk had been informed they were coming so allowed them in without question. 

"Well, aren't things just convenient tonight," Jim said as the elevator opened right away. 

He followed Blair inside and pressed the button for the top floor. The elevator shuddered from air rushing through the shaft. Blair frowned and watched numbers flash red as they passed each floor, until Jim leaned forward and distracted him with a kiss. 

"This elevator has a strange effect on you, man." Blair grinned. 

Jim had time to pull him in for another kiss with serious intent before they arrived. He pulled back as the doors opened, looking at Blair's mouth with a firm air of satisfaction. Blair touched his lips and wondered if they looked as well used as Jim's. He followed Jim out of the elevator and shook off that train of thought as he spotted Jack sitting at a table on the far side of the room. 

"Hello." Jack waved at them. "Thank you both for stopping by. Please, come join me." 

They passed by the set, which looked unchanged from earlier today. It was well lit and the camera sat ready on the tripod. They arrived at the table and Jack stood to greet them. 

"Working kind of late, aren't you?" Jim asked. "Are these normal hours for you?" 

"It's a deadline crunch. Plus, I'm a nightowl so I don't mind. It's good to be alone in the studio so I'm not distracted," Jack said. "Actually, I suppose I work late most nights. It's a good thing I love what I do. How about you, Detective?" 

Wind rattled the windows on both ends of the large room. Jack motioned to chairs around the table and they sat. He looked at Jim, apparently intent on hearing an answer. 

"The job has its good days," Jim said. 

Jack quirked his lips, and nodded. "Today was a good day, wasn't it? It's obvious you have great passion for what you do. For many things, I would say." He glanced at Blair. 

"Right." Jim looked ready to move on from the small talk. "So, what do you have for us?" 

Jack pointed to a folder on the table. Jim picked it up and pulled out several glossy black and white images. Blair looked over his shoulder as he flipped through ten photos of Dan Hampton running on the track at Rainier. 

"You mentioned to Blair that there was something you thought we'd find useful about these," Jim said. "I'm not seeing anything unusual. Am I missing something?" 

"Actually, there are a few more photographs to print from the roll I developed. I was just about to head back into the darkroom to finish them. It won't take long." Jack tugged gently on Blair's arm. "Come with me, Blair. I'll show you my secrets." 

Blair glanced at Jim and caught his look of impatience as he followed Jack toward a door beside the set. 

"Make yourself comfortable, Detective," Jack called to Jim over his shoulder. "We won't be long." 

The darkroom was small. One side of the room held an enlarger and strips of developed film hung from pegs on the wall. A sink with a long counter took up the other side of the room. Blair noticed two pans on the counter each filled with fluid. 

"I'm old fashioned." Jack flipped two light switches near the door, first plunging them into darkness then bathing them in dim red light. "I develop my film and print my photos individually by hand. I know there are machines and computer programs these days that could pull me into the modern age, but to me this is art. Art is hands on, touching what you create, becoming part of it." 

Blair watched him choose a strip of film, place it on the enlarger, put paper down for the image, then start the process. 

"That explains why you work so late," Blair said. 

Jack laughed. "Probably." 

He lifted the piece of paper from the enlarger and handed it to Blair. 

"Drop that in the first pan on the sink," he said. "This is the best part." 

"I don't want to mess it up." Blair began to feel uncomfortable. "Maybe you should just do it." 

"You'll do fine. Just drop it in and push it down into the fluid with your fingers." Jack took Blair by the shoulders and turned him to face the sink. Blair did as instructed. He felt a small thrill as an image began to form on the paper. His fingers felt slick and they tingled as he pressed the edges of the paper under the surface of the chemicals. 

"Exciting, isn't it?" Jack's breath blew across his ear. 

The tingling became fire in Blair's fingers. It shot up his arms and Blair gasped at a sudden rush of heat through his body. 

"Something's wrong," Blair cried out as muscles cramped in his hands and legs. 

Jack curled his arms around Blair's waist and held him up. 

"It won't hurt for long." Jack kissed Blair's cheek. "You'll relax soon and we can begin. Your warrior waits outside for us. His heart will be the offering tonight. The Goddess wants passion." He trailed kisses down Blair's jaw to his neck. "Wish I could keep you. I'd change the rules if I could. But you're the source for his passion. You must witness the sacrifice, then join him." 

"Jim," Blair moaned as the flush began to fade, replaced by a heavy feeling, dragging him down, turning his legs to rubber. 

"Look." Jack shook him and Blair's head lolled down until his eyes caught the image below him. It was Roger Stone with light fading from his eyes, fear lingering in his expression. "I captured the moment, didn't I?" 

"Oh my god..." Blair tried to struggle but his arms were useless. "Jim!" 

"Shh." Jack cupped Blair's chin and pulled his face up. "I'll be quick. You won't suffer." 

He brought his mouth to Blair's and kissed him, pushing his tongue in, stealing Blair's breath. The world spun into a blur of red and Blair lost the fight. He slid into darkness with Roger Stone's image burned into his mind, speaking to him of terror and things to come. 

* * *

Jim tossed the photographs on the table and paced toward the set. Jack Newman's routine of getting off by flirting with Blair under his nose was going to stop. If this whole thing turned out to be a waste of time, Newman was going to find his trip to Paris delayed by a stop at Cascade PD, courtesy of Jim Ellison. He'd think up charges. There had to be a law against pissing off a detective to this degree. 

His fingers began to itch and he rubbed them together, wondering absently what the grainy feeling was. He looked at his hands and saw a fine white powder coating his fingertips. He looked at the photographs, narrowed his vision to the surface of the top photo and saw the same powder residue. Thoughts swirled in his head and clicked into place. He extended his hearing, caught the sound of Blair's voice, thick with pain: "Something's wrong." 

Jim rushed toward the darkroom just as a flash of heat shot up his arms and through his body. He reached for his gun, but his fingers cramped as he pulled it from the holster and it dropped to the floor, skidding away from him. The cramping spread up his arms then down to his legs and he fell, landing on the floor in the middle of the set. 

"Jim!" 

He tried to focus on Blair, but the sounds around him whirled together into a roar. He struggled to think as his mind screamed that Blair was in pain. Jim grunted with the effort it took to pull himself to his knees. The cramping began to ease, replaced by numbness that began in his feet and climbed higher. He felt heat against his back from the lamps behind him, creating a circle of light on the set and casting the rest of the studio into darkness. The air became heavy and the sounds in the room grew distinct again. He sucked in a breath and looked around him, saw his gun too far away, saw the moon round and white through the window, saw a forest come to life as trees on the wall seemed to weave forward then back. Then the door to the darkroom opened and Jim's world narrowed to the sight of Blair, limp in Jack Newman's arms. 

"Detective." Jack looked at Jim's gun. "I see you've lost something." 

"What did you do to him?" Jim struggled to make his mouth work. 

"The same thing I did to you." Jack smiled and kissed Blair's forehead. "You've both been drugged, but Blair's dose was stronger than yours because he has to stay still longer than you do." 

"You son of a bitch!" 

Jack propped Blair against the wall of trees and sat next to him. "I wish he'd wake up though. We can't begin until he does." Jack looked at Jim as if he should understand things. "He has to watch. There's no other way to be sure I've captured your soul. He'll recognize you inside of me." 

"You can't get away with this." Jim tried to think. "Give it up now and I'll do my best to see that you get help." 

Jack stared at him for a moment, then began to laugh. He drew Blair into his arms. "I don't need your help, Detective. I need your heart. You have a warrior's heart. The Goddess recognized it the moment she saw you. It's what she wants." He traced a finger along Blair's cheek. "She's fertile now. I'm not surprised she chose you. She wants your passion." He pushed curls from Blair's face. "I'm not afraid. We're nearing Cutios, the month of winds, and we're in the upper realm. No one can touch us here." 

Jim struggled to keep track of the conversation. It was growing harder to focus, harder to turn his neck and lift his arms. Newman's hands were on Blair and sweat trickled down Jim's face as he tried to move. God, he wanted to pound his fists into Newman, wanted to kill him, but his legs were numb. His body felt useless. He needed to think. He took a breath and told himself to calm the hell down. 

"Why does Elena have to get what she wants?" Jim tried for a reasonable tone. 

Jack blinked at him. "Elena isn't the Goddess. She's just the muse." He looked out the window, toward the moon. "The Goddess sent her to me. She uses Elena to tell me what she wants. You should feel honored." Jack shook his head. "Why am I wasting my breath? There's no way for you to understand this." 

Jack turned his attention to Blair, tapped his cheek. "Time to wake up." He ran his thumb along Blair's lips. "You'd make a fine muse. It's a shame to have to kill you." 

He leaned down, pressed his lips to Blair's and Jim's vision filled with red. 

"Take your fucking hands off him!" Jim barely recognized his own voice. 

Jack looked up. "Forgive me, this is cruel, isn't it?" His eyes glowed with conquest. "I don't mean to gloat." 

Jim tried to swallow and the sound was a dry click. Jack stood and arranged Blair to face Jim. He walked away from the set and into the dim edges of the room, mumbling about preparations and tools. Jim's vision blurred as he tracked Newman moving about in a dark corner of the studio. He seemed no more than a shadow, a black and shifting shape. Jim's mind swirled. He had to think of something, had to do something. Then Blair moaned and began to wake. By instinct, Jim leaned toward him and nearly fell on his face. His hand landed on something sharp and he winced. 

Pain. He'd felt pain. A memory flashed; it was Blair's voice harassing him about anesthesia and pain and tests they needed to run: //Pain might override the effect of drugs on your system.// 

Jim brushed his hand across the floor again, searching, searching. Then he found it, a silver tack. He managed to lift it then drive the point deep under the nail of his thumb. He nearly gasped at the pain then forgot his thumb as a wave of sensation swept over him. His legs and feet tingled then stung as nerves woke with a flare of needle pricks. He dialed down touch and sound seemed to dim as well. 

"Jim." Blair's voice barely reached him and Jim looked up into terror filled eyes. 

"Easy, Blair," he whispered. "It's gonna be okay, Chief." 

Blair tried to move, but Jim could tell his muscles weren't cooperating. Jim turned toward the corner of the room where Newman had been-- then froze. 

"I think we're ready." Newman stood beside him now, a large knife in one hand. 

"Blair, do you see?" Jack lifted the knife. "Watch me now." 

Jim heard Blair's breath hitch then forgot everything except moving as the knife came down, flashing light off its edges. It moved in an arc toward his chest and Jim lunged up, knocking his shoulder against Jack's arm. Jack roared in surprise and the knife fell with a clatter. Jim seized the moment and slammed his body back against Newman. They both fell and Jim landed hard on top. He rolled off quickly, grabbed Newman, pulled his fist back then brought it down in a furious blow. It landed like a sledgehammer, knocking Jack's face sideways, flooding Jim with satisfaction, but not enough, not nearly enough. He smashed the fist down again and again. 

"Jim!" Blair's voice came to him from a distance. "Jim, stop!" 

Blood pounded in his ears as he paused, fist ready. 

"He's out, Jim. You've got it covered." Blair's voice cracked. "Please, man, come on." 

Blair, he thought, Blair. Jim turned and the panic in Blair's eyes rocked him. In an instant, the anger vanished. He cuffed Newman then moved to Blair, nearly falling, but finally reaching him. Jim kneeled beside him and pulled him into a tight hug. 

"You scared the shit out of me," Blair gasped against Jim's shoulder. "Quit scaring the shit out of me!" 

"Done, Chief. I'm done." 

He felt Blair trying to move, trying to circle his arms around Jim's waist. 

"Goddammit!" Blair slumped against him. "Can't move. I can't..." 

"Easy, I've got you." Jim rubbed his palm up and down Blair's back and rocked gently until both their hearts stopped racing. 

He pulled back after a moment, held Blair's face in his hands and checked him over. 

"You look fuzzy," Blair said. 

"Yeah, well, you look dopey." 

Blair blew out a shaky laugh and Jim smiled. 

"You okay?" Blair asked. 

"I think I'll make it." He tucked Blair's head under his chin. "Just let me do this for another minute." 

"Not a problem," Blair said. "Hang on as long as you want, man. Long as you want." 

Jim kissed the top of Blair's head then pulled the cellphone from his pocket and dialed for an ambulance and back up. Blair murmured something. 

"What was that, Chief?" 

"Feels like they're watching us, like they've watched everything." Blair sounded groggy. "It's like they're real." 

Jim followed Blair's glance toward the set, took in the image of trees and shadows. 

"Nah, Chief, that's not the real thing." He cupped his palm against Blair's cheek, tilted his face up, then kissed him gently. "This is it. This is the real thing right here." 


End file.
